PART5

I drove to the care home that afternoon without telling Karen.

For the entire forty-minute journey, I kept hearing the administrator’s words.

Your mother says your sister took the wrong copy.

What did that mean?

What original documents had Karen missed?

And why had Mom waited until now to tell anyone?

When I arrived, the administrator, a woman named Patricia, was waiting near the reception desk.

“Mrs. Carlson is in her room,” she said. “She’s been asking about you since breakfast.”

“Has Karen been here?”

Patricia glanced toward the hallway.

“Not yet. But she called twice this morning.”

I followed her down the corridor.

Mom was sitting beside the window in a pale blue cardigan. Her white hair was neatly brushed, and a small vase of yellow flowers sat on her bedside table.

For a moment, I couldn’t move.

She looked smaller than I remembered.

Much smaller.

“Mom?”

She turned.

Her eyes widened.

“Beth?”

I rushed toward her.

“Hi, Mom.”

She reached for my hands.

“Oh, sweetheart. You came.”

I hugged her carefully, afraid of hurting her.

She held me for a long time.

Then she pulled back and studied my face.

“Did you bring it?”

I frowned.

“Bring what?”

“The photograph. The one with your father.”

I opened my bag and showed her the photograph Mr. Fenwick had given me.

She smiled.

“Good. He kept it.”

Then her expression changed.

“Did you find the blue tin?”

“Yes, Mom.”

“And did you speak to Mr. Fenwick?”

“Yes.”

She closed her eyes.

“Thank goodness.”

I pulled a chair closer to her bed.

“Mom, I need you to explain everything. I saw the bank statements. I saw the documents Karen tried to make you sign. I know about the house.”

Mom looked toward the door.

“Is she here?”

“No.”

“Are you sure?”

I nodded.

Mom took a slow breath.

“Then listen carefully, Beth. I don’t have as much energy as I used to.”

I held her hand.

“I’m listening.”

She began telling me something I had never known.

In 2019, when Dad was still alive, he and Mom had started worrying about their finances.

Dad had discovered that Karen was using money from their joint account to pay personal expenses.

At first, they thought it was an accident.

Then it happened again.

And again.

Dad confronted Karen privately.

She cried.

She apologized.

She promised it would never happen again.

Mom said Dad wanted to report the withdrawals, but she begged him to give Karen another chance.

“Your father loved both of you,” Mom whispered. “He didn’t want the family destroyed over money.”

I looked down.

“But it didn’t stop.”

“No. It didn’t.”

Mom explained that the house was placed in a trust for Emily because my parents wanted to protect the property from future disputes.

They had also created a separate savings account.

The intention was simple.

The house would eventually belong to Emily.

The savings would help with her education.

And Mom would continue living in the house for the rest of her life.

“Karen knew about the savings account,” I said.

Mom nodded.

“She knew there was money. But she didn’t know everything.”

“What didn’t she know?”

Mom looked at me.

“The original trust documents were never kept in the house.”

I leaned closer.

“Where were they?”

Mom reached toward her bedside drawer.

Inside was a small silver key attached to a faded red ribbon.

“Your father rented a private safety deposit box at the bank. The key is here.”

I stared at it.

“What’s inside?”

“The original trust agreement. The original property deed. And another document your father insisted we prepare.”

“What document?”

Mom hesitated.

“A letter explaining what should happen if someone attempted to sell the property without my consent.”

I felt my throat tighten.

“Does Karen know?”

“No. She believes she has the only copy.”

Mom shook her head.

“Your father always said that the person who controls the paperwork isn’t necessarily the person who owns something.”

I almost laughed through my tears.

That sounded exactly like him.

Then Mom suddenly squeezed my hand.

“Beth, there’s something else.”

“What?”

“Your sister didn’t just want the house.”

I waited.

“She wanted me declared incapable of managing my own affairs.”

I felt cold.

“Why?”

“Because she believed that if she could get control over all my finances, she could transfer everything without anyone questioning her.”

Mom’s voice trembled.

“She told people I was forgetting things. She told the doctor I was becoming difficult. She told the neighbors I was no longer safe alone.”

“Mom…”

“Some of those things were true, sweetheart. I did need help. I did forget things. But I was never unable to understand what belonged to me.”

She wiped her eyes.

“Being old is not the same as being invisible.”

I leaned forward and kissed her forehead.

“I know, Mom.”

For the first time in months, I felt like I was finally hearing her real voice.

Not through a telephone.

Not through Karen’s explanations.

But directly from my mother.

Then she said something that changed everything.

“Karen is coming tomorrow.”

“I know.”

“No, Beth. You don’t understand. She thinks I have already signed the second agreement.”

“What second agreement?”

Mom looked toward the window.

“The one she brought me the night before I left the house.”

I felt my stomach drop.

“She brought another document?”

Mom nodded.

“But I didn’t sign it.”

I stared at her.

“Then what happened?”

“Your sister left it on the table. When she went to answer the telephone, I put the document inside my husband’s old lockbox.”

“Where is the lockbox?”

Mom gave me a tired smile.

“Under the third wooden stair.”

I almost stopped breathing.

The blue tin.

The same hiding place.

But we had already found the tin.

“Mom, we checked underneath the stair.”

“You found the tin?”

“Yes.”

“Then you need to look beneath it.”

I stared at her.

“Beneath it?”

Mom nodded.

“Your father built a second compartment.”

I immediately called Mr. Fenwick.

He answered on the second ring.

“Beth?”

“Mom says there’s another compartment beneath the third stair. She says the original lockbox is there.”

There was silence.

Then he said:

“Do not attempt to retrieve anything without documenting its location. The new owners may be able to help us.”

I called Tyler.

He answered almost immediately.

“Beth? Is everything okay?”

CONTINUE FOR NEXT PART6…